A Merciful Fate (Mercy Kilpatrick Book 5) Page 6

Mercy eyed the broken eye socket of the skull, where Mull had been shot. What will his family think of that?

  “You’re doubting me,” Dr. Lockhart said. “I’ve heard from too many families that not knowing is the absolute worst.” She gently touched the skull. “This is horrible, but it’s an answer. It will fill a gaping void for his family. Now they can start to heal.”

  “Did the dental X-rays provide the confirmation?” Eddie asked.

  “Yes. The medical examiner’s odontologist found Mull’s old films and did the comparison. She’s one hundred percent positive. The records match perfectly. She says that Ellis Mull hasn’t had any dental work done since the original films. I’d suspected the remains were quite old, so the lack of dental work may reinforce my theory that he died not long after the robbery.” She took a breath. “I’d already determined the remains weren’t Whipple. He was too short based on the length of the femurs. Age and race hadn’t ruled out Mull.”

  “Is the gunshot the cause of death?” Mercy asked. “Did anything else happen to him?”

  “Solely working with skeletal remains limits my conclusions,” Dr. Lockhart said, picking up the skull. “There’s no soft tissue to determine other injuries. I studied every inch of bone that we have and didn’t find any marks to indicate a stabbing or bludgeoning. Of course, not every bone is here. I’m missing several small ones from the hands. Probably carried off by some sort of vermin. The hyoid bone of the neck is missing. If it’d been present and broken, it could indicate a strangling.” She set the skull down and picked up a lengthy bone that had to be from a leg. “He has heavy bones. Very thick. I read he’d played football and was into weight lifting. His long bone structure supports that.” The doctor ran one finger down the length of the femur, stopping about halfway. “See this groove? It’s the linea aspera. He’s developed a hypertrophic lesion along it from heavy muscle use. He has similar lesions on his humerus at the deltoid insertion. This boy worked his body hard.”

  Compared to the medical examiner’s tiny hands, the bone looked gigantic.

  “His right clavicle and right fibula both had old, healed breaks, but I found nothing out of the ordinary on the rest of the skeleton to indicate how he died.”

  “Except that.” Eddie touched the ravaged eye socket. “This is the entrance wound, correct?”

  “Yes,” said Dr. Lockhart. She turned the skull to view the back. “See how this hole has circular layers of bone missing around it? It’s beveled. That tells me it’s an exit. It’d be a clean hole if it was the entrance wound.”

  “The bullet continued through the wall of the shack,” added Eddie. “We haven’t found it yet.”

  Mercy suspected they never would. She looked at Eddie. “So where are the other two friends?”

  “And the mysterious Jerry,” he added. “The impression I’ve formed is that the four main guys were the best of friends. My money is on Jerry to be the hothead with a gun who wanted a bigger piece of the money pie.”

  “I would have picked Gamble as the shooter if he wasn’t behind bars,” said Mercy. “He’s devious, and I can see him getting greedy.”

  “Think Gamble will be any more forthcoming once he knows Mull is dead?” asked Eddie.

  Mercy remembered Shane Gamble’s eyes. He craved information. His active brain was locked in a prison, and he was starving for more stimulation. Once Mull’s identification was picked up by the media, they could lose some leverage with Gamble. “It’s very possible. He enjoys the mind games. Now that I know how he thinks, I might be able to get something useful.”

  “How can someone who’s been locked up for nearly thirty years help your investigation?” asked Dr. Lockhart.

  Mercy pointed at the skull. “He was possibly stuck in a shed for thirty years. Has he been of help?”

  The woman’s dark eyes turned thoughtful. “Touché.”

  “Getting inside Gamble’s skull will be tough,” Eddie pointed out.

  “I’ll let you borrow my Stryker saw,” offered Dr. Lockhart.

  “I don’t think the prison will allow it.” Mercy grinned at the doctor, imagining the bone-cutting saw being used on Gamble.

  “The media would love to hear you tried,” Eddie said dryly. “I can see the headline: ‘FBI Agent Threatens Inmate with Saw.’”

  “Hopefully we’ll have more time to investigate before the story breaks,” said Mercy.

  “I can’t believe it hasn’t broken yet,” said the doctor. “I’ve kept things quiet here, and I know the odontologist in Portland won’t talk, but the word is going to get out. People have wanted this mystery solved for decades.”

  “We’ve been very lucky so far,” said Mercy. Her phone chimed. She glanced at the screen, and her heart sank. “I spoke too soon.”

  “What happened?” asked Eddie as he tried to see her screen.

  “It’s a text from Jeff. The office got a call from the Midnight Voice.”

  Dr. Lockhart wrinkled her nose. “The tabloid? They got the story first? That doesn’t seem right.”

  “I’m sure the reputable news outlets will be right behind them,” said Eddie.

  Mercy sighed.

  My job just got more difficult.

  SEVEN

  The next morning before work, Mercy darted across a street in Eagle’s Nest to Rose’s preschool and realized she should have scheduled a different time to see her sister. Parents were unloading their children from minivans and sedans. It was the morning drop-off rush.

  Cindy, Rose’s parent assistant, was just inside the door, greeting children as they went in. She spotted Mercy hesitating and frantically gestured for her to enter. Cindy’s smile filled her face. “Rose is impatiently waiting for you.”

  “What’s going on with Rose?” Mercy whispered as a tiny girl backed into her leg. She grabbed the child’s shoulders before she toppled and steered her in a new direction. “I can’t stay long. I need to get to work.”

  “I’ll let her tell you.” Cindy looked ready to burst with her secret.

  Mercy wandered into the organized chaos of Rose’s preschool, stunned as usual that ten small children could make so much noise. Rose sat on a chair in the center of the room. Children rushed her for hugs, tugged on her arm for attention, and talked all at once. Mercy watched as Rose greeted each one, knowing which children needed to stick close for reassurance and which needed to immediately immerse themselves in the toys. Her blind older sister was amazing. Once Rose was down to only two children glued to her side, Mercy approached. “Rose?”

  “Mercy!” Rose turned toward her voice and her face lit up.

  Mercy took one of her hands. Rose also looked ready to burst, but not in the I’ve-got-a-secret way that Cindy had. Rose’s stomach was huge. She was starting the last month of her pregnancy, and it appeared she’d hidden a giant basketball under her dress. One of her students gently patted the side of Rose’s belly, a blissful look on her small face.

  Damn, Rose will be a great mother.

  Mercy bent over to kiss her sister’s soft cheek. “What did you need me to stop by for?”

  Rose tugged at her necklace, pulling the chain out, and Mercy saw a diamond ring dangle and sparkle in the light.

  Glee surged through Mercy, and she hugged her sister. “Nick proposed? You said yes?” The questions tumbled off Mercy’s tongue, their answers apparent from the happiness on Rose’s face.

  “We had a long talk about getting married a few days ago and made some decisions. I thought that was the end of it until after the baby came. Instead he surprised me last night. I thought we were going out to eat, but he took me to his home. He’d made dinner, and afterward, he took my hand and laid the ring on my palm.”

  Mercy lifted the silver ring. “It’s lovely, Rose.” The center diamond was nestled in a delicate filigree setting and was encircled by six smaller stones and elaborate engravings.

  “It belonged to his grandmother.”

  “It’s an amazing heirloom—a work of art. The intricate
setting is from a different era.”

  “We aren’t getting it sized until my pregnancy fingers shrink back to normal,” Rose said with a grin. “Nick also thought ahead to have the chain ready last night.”

  “He’s very thoughtful. Nick’s a good man, Rose.” An understatement. “Do you have a wedding date?”

  “My due date is thirty-two days away. Everyone tells me I’ll need three months after that to feel halfway human again, so that puts us in fall. We’re tentatively planning on mid-October.” She leaned closer to Mercy. “He asked Dad for permission to marry me,” she whispered.

  Mercy bit her lip, holding back a laugh. “How did that go over with Dad?”

  “He was thrilled but wasn’t about to show it. I could hear the restraint in his voice.” She laughed. “He got his wish to marry me off.”

  “We both know how ridiculous that was.” Mercy had been furious at her father’s awkward attempts at matchmaking for his pregnant daughter. He’d believed Rose should be married because she was pregnant. Who the man was hadn’t seemed to matter.

  “It was. But I’m sure he’ll take credit for the match after the wedding.”

  “It was all Nick,” said Mercy. “He’s been googly-eyed over you for ages.”

  “I just couldn’t see it,” she quipped.

  Mercy choked on laughter. “Jeez, Rose, I love you so much.” She hugged her sister again and squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened. “You deserve this. Nick is freaking lucky.” Mercy pulled back and studied her sister’s beautiful face, wishing she had half the peace that Rose shared with the people around her. “You’re confident in him now?” she asked in a soft voice, hating to bring up Rose’s worst fear.

  The father of Rose’s baby was a murderer and rapist, killed by Mercy and Truman as he held Rose hostage. Rose had worried that no man could ever accept her and her child.

  “Yes.” Beaming, Rose set her hand on the head of the little girl who was now using both hands to pat Rose’s baby basketball. Rose frowned. Her hand slid over the girl’s hair to her forehead. “Addie? Are you okay?” She moved the child to stand in front of her knees and ran inquisitive fingers over the child’s face as her frown grew deeper. “She’s burning up.”

  Mercy squatted and placed her hand on the girl’s forehead. Addie stared silently at her with tired eyes. Rose was right. “She looks exhausted.”

  “Cindy?” Rose called out.

  Cindy appeared, holding a small boy with one hand and a headless doll with the other. “Yes?”

  “Call Addie’s mom. She’s got a fever. Let’s keep her away from the other kids.”

  “I’m on it.” Cindy set down the headless doll, and Mercy spotted the head in the boy’s grip behind his back, shame on his face.

  Someone was about to get a lecture.

  “I need to get to work,” Mercy told her sister. “Let’s meet for dinner this week to celebrate.”

  “I’ll call you,” Rose promised, her attention still on the feverish child.

  Mercy slipped out of the preschool, cheered by the happiness she’d seen in her sister. No one deserved it more than Rose.

  “Agent Kilpatrick?” A young woman with a pleasant smile and dark-purple streaks in her blonde hair leaned against the door of a dusty little sedan. Parked illegally.

  “Yes?”

  “I understand you’re working on the Gamble-Helmet Heist.” Her smile didn’t change.

  An alert went off in Mercy’s brain, and she stopped, eyeing the woman. She wore denim capris, a white T-shirt, and flip-flops. She looked young enough to be a friend of Kaylie’s.

  “Do I know you?” Mercy asked cautiously.

  “No. It’s true, though, right? Did you identify the body yet?”

  Annoyance shot through her. “Excuse me. I was just leaving.” She stepped into the street to cross to her car.

  The woman shoved a business card in front of Mercy’s stomach, making it impossible to move past the woman without either hitting her hand or taking the card. Instead Mercy stopped and gave the woman her best glacial glare.

  “My name’s Tabitha Huff. I work for the Midnight Voice.”

  “Move your hand, please.” Ice water dripped from Mercy’s tone. The woman worked for the tabloid that had contacted her office last night.

  “What can you tell me about the remains?” Tabitha showed no fear, tilting her head in interest as she held Mercy’s gaze.

  Why are reporters so pushy?

  “Nothing. Go bug a Kardashian.” Mercy didn’t take the card, yet the woman continued to hold it in front of her.

  “You don’t deny your case is related to the robbery.” Cunning entered Tabitha’s eyes.

  “I deny and confirm nothing.” Mercy pinned the woman with her gaze. “Why are you the only reporter here if you believe this is such a big story? Did someone leak you a false tip?”

  The slightest quiver of Tabitha’s lashes told Mercy she’d struck a nerve, so she pushed on. “I would think the local news would be hounding us—maybe even CNN or Fox. Sounds like your source isn’t very reliable.”

  Tabitha’s face blanked, her pleasant smile gone. “The public deserves to know. The Gamble-Helmet Heist is part of American lore. If you have the first lead in decades, it’s going to change history.”

  Mercy blinked. “Isn’t that a little extreme? The Civil War is history. Not one robbery with a dead victim. I think the correct description is notorious or infamous . . . or how about senseless murder?”

  “America won’t see it that way.”

  “Then you’re doing your job wrong, because that’s all it is.”

  “I’ll check in to see if you’ve changed your mind later. You could be the national face of this investigation,” she said earnestly.

  That doesn’t hold the appeal you think it does. “Call the office. I don’t talk to media.” With one finger, she gently pushed the woman’s hand out of the way and crossed the street.

  Who is the leak?

  And why would they call a tabloid?

  Sandy physically hurt at the sight of the graffiti on the back wall of her B&B.

  Her chest was full of pain. My beautiful building.

  It wasn’t just a building; it was her heart. The amazing result of years of hard labor.

  Echoing in her head was her comment to Truman two days ago about wanting the vandal to stay away from the old home. It was as if someone had spray-painted the words in reaction to her wish.

  Now Truman and his officer Samuel stood with her. Their silence spoke volumes.

  Someone had scribbled BITCH! and WHORE! in angry, three-foot-tall letters.

  “Thanks for coming,” Sandy said, needing to fill the awkward silence. She put her hands on her hips, trying to hide the subtle quiver in her hands. “I didn’t spot it until I took the garbage out at nine this morning.” She gestured at the small dumpster and recycling bins to the right of the graffiti. “I don’t know when it happened. I haven’t been out here since early yesterday evening. As you can imagine, I’m rattled.” That’s putting it mildly. She’d seen the dark half-moons below her eyes in the mirror and noticed the cracked and dry lips. She’d had trouble sleeping since the start of the vehicle damage two weeks ago.

  Beside her, Samuel abruptly let out a string of curses. Truman flinched and shot him an irritated glare.

  “It’s red paint,” Samuel muttered, his tone heavy with menace for the culprit.

  Truman nodded. “It’s darker than the paint at Bree Ingram’s farm, but still . . .”

  “Bree?” Sandy’s heart stopped. “Someone did this at her farm too?”

  “It was different,” Truman told her in a calm voice. “No words. Just some markings on the stalls and her truck yesterday.”

  Sandy fumed. Bree was her closest friend but hadn’t said a word. “She’ll be getting a phone call from me,” she stated. “Any broken car windows?”

  “No,” answered Truman. “Yesterday was the first incident, and it was
just paint.”

  WHORE. Sandy stared at the huge letters. Why would Bree be targeted too?

  “Who does shit like this?” Samuel swore again. Fury radiated from him, and Sandy knew he wanted to hit someone. His anger didn’t make her nervous. She was pleased he’d responded with Truman.

  “Did you find some cameras?” Sandy asked Truman. It hurt to rely on someone’s kindness to help protect her property, but she simply didn’t have the money. She’d been in the red for months. If she had an accountant, he’d be in deep shock.

  Good thing I can’t afford one.

  “Uhhh . . . I should have some by tomorrow.”

  Sandy didn’t miss the glance Truman exchanged with Samuel. She narrowed her eyes at the two men, who she suspected weren’t being completely truthful.

  That makes three of us.

  “I would have installed one to cover this area.” Truman indicated the entire back side of her building. “It ticks me off that I’m too late. But we’ll definitely have them up by tomorrow evening.”

  “Absolutely,” Samuel chimed in. “We’ll have the asshole the next time he tries anything.”

  Why am I not reassured? She didn’t want to think about what the offender might do next time.

  During Truman’s last visit she’d been frustrated. Today that frustration had been replaced by . . . fear. A shudder shook her entire body.

  It can’t be . . .

  “Do you have more of the house’s original paint?” Samuel asked. His dark gaze bored into her skull, and she knew he’d seen her flinch a moment ago. She wondered if he suspected her . . . her lies . . . her facade . . .

  “I do. I painted it by myself two years ago.” Her voice fell. “I’ve worked so hard . . .”

  “You have,” Samuel agreed. “I’ll help you cover it up.” He stepped closer, his gaze locked on her face. “You have a feeling you might know who did this,” he stated softly.

  Sandy looked away, trying to control the tremble in her chin. “No. I told Truman the other day I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Sandy.” Samuel touched her upper arm. “Look at me.”

  She did and crossed her arms on her chest. The concern in his eyes took her breath away, but she stayed stoic, not wanting him to see the true depth of her fear. The silence awkwardly stretched for a few seconds.